


Jackpot

by TinyFakeFanficRock



Series: The Maisie Files [6]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Holding Hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:38:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9443303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyFakeFanficRock/pseuds/TinyFakeFanficRock
Summary: Astor has a run of good luck he can actually enjoy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Fallout Kink Meme.

They'd given him a month's leave; it seemed impossibly long. Astor didn't know what to do with himself. Ever since Camp Searchlight's irradiation, all he'd allowed himself to think about was the circuit he'd worn around the camp and the comrades who'd died within. He'd eventually ended up on the Strip because, well, soldiers on leave went to the Strip.

He tried the casinos. He felt embarrassed at the Ultra-Luxe when he compared the others' formal wear to his own black slacks and blue shirt. They were clean, but hardly rose to the apparent dress code, and considering that only reminded him how self-conscious he felt being out of uniform. He felt embarrassed and self-conscious at Gomorrah, too, but for entirely different reasons: He hadn't so much as taken a girl on a date since before basic training, let alone done any of the stuff the working girls there were offering. So The Tops it was.

To his utter astonishment, he won a hundred caps at blackjack there, and decided to quit while he was ahead and treat himself to dinner in their restaurant. He felt awkward taking up a table with four chairs all by himself, but they didn't have any smaller ones. 

He'd managed to keep his fallen Searchlight comrades from his mind for a few hours -- a new personal record -- but now he found himself wondering which of them might have come with him. Jim Yadav and Harry Torelli, for sure, and maybe Dave Li, if he didn't follow Ben Brown to the bar instead. He could almost see them in the other chairs at his table, laughing, beers in hand.

But it hadn't worked out that way at all. They were dead -- had been worse than dead first, before tiny Maisie and her big rifle showed up and did what he hadn't had the balls to -- and he was alive, all thanks to the arbitrary whims of the patrol schedule. _Shouldn't have come to Vegas when I used up all my luck in life already. Greedy._ His stew lost its taste in his mouth.

Astor stared forlornly at the restaurant's half-open door, wishing for someone to appear out of nowhere and pull him from his misery, kind of like Maisie had back at Searchlight. He was certainly thinking about her a lot lately, wasn't he? If he was being honest with himself, he had developed something of a crush on her. It was silly, of course. He'd blown his chances with her when he'd told her to kill Edwards, made her think he was a ghoul-hater. That wasn't it at all; he just didn't see how Edwards would be able to keep his mind when all the others had lost theirs, had figured it was inevitable he'd go feral. She had been polite about refusing to kill Edwards, but also very, very firm, and he'd seen the disappointment in her eyes. He'd tried to salvage things by telling her Edwards would fit in at Ranger Station Echo, but he was pretty sure she still thought he was an asshole.

Hell, even if he hadn't screwed it up before it started, falling for Maisie would have been stupid -- he was pretty sure she'd paired off with the cheerful, chatty woman with a power fist who'd accompanied her on her last pass by Searchlight. That had been an awful lot of hugging between just friends. _But could anyone really blame her? Or me? What's not to like about a woman who knows her way around a sniper rifle, a woman who stole intel from Cottonwood Cove, then killed all the Legionaries there_ and _rendered the place unusable? And she's awful pretty, too,_ his mind put in unbidden.

Astor sighed. He really ought to let go of this line of thought, but not only was thinking about her pleasant, it also kept Searchlight from his mind better than anything else he'd tried. Strange, that, since he'd met her there.

Just then, a red-haired woman passed the door, snapping him to attention, which gave way to disappointment when she spoke. "Aw, c'mon, kid. You gotta get back on the horse when you fall off. Whatever the fuck a horse is. Point is, how else you gonna learn?" Definitely not Maisie. _Come on, Fred, you knew she wasn't gonna walk by just because you thought about her._

"No, _thank_ you, Cass, I don't need any more of _that_ kind of education." But that -- that _was_ her! She'd stepped into view, her round pale face, reading glasses and prickly ponytail still the same, though she'd exchanged her top hat and black combat armor for a pale yellow dress that made Astor catch his breath a little. He couldn't concentrate on his good fortune, though, because Maisie actually looked a bit in need of a rescue, eyes darting back and forth as if looking for an escape route.

He was on his feet and calling her name before he could even think about it. It was nothing compared to all she'd done for him, but any way he could help her, he would.

Her eyes lit up when she recognized him, though he was pretty sure she'd have lit up for Caesar if he'd been the one offering her an out. It was still beautiful. "First Sergeant Astor! It's been forever! How's the NCR been treating you?"

"Well, they made me a captain, for one thing, and then they gave me a bunch of leave. So here I am. How are y--"

"That's great; congratulations! Let me buy you dinner to celebrate your promotion." She put her hand on his forearm and his head yelled _shut up shut up shut up_ at his heart.

"Aw, you don't have to buy me anything, but I'd love to catch up with you."

Cass rolled her eyes and adjusted her cowboy hat. "Okay, okay, you two have your reunion party. You know where I'll be."

"No hard feelings, right?"

"'Course not, Shorty." She laughed at the sullen look Maisie shot her and swept off toward the casino floor.

When she'd gotten out of earshot, Maisie put her hand over her heart and heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ ," she said. "Was it that obvious how desperate I was?"

"You did kinda look like you wanted some backup."

"Yeah, Cass is great, except when she gets an idea in her head and won't let go of it. Tonight she thought I should hit all the bars with her, but one night in the cells at the MP HQ was more than enough for me, thanks."

His eyebrows shot up. "You spent a night in jail up here?"

Her grin was equal parts sheepishness and mischief. "Yeah, me and my pal Veronica started out drinking Atomic Cocktails and ended up pissing off Captain Pappas." 

"Sounds like a good story, if you've got the time." He offered her a chair, and to his delight, she accepted, dropping her bag on the chair beside her.

They placed another order: Brahmin steak for her, a salad for him, and cold water for both of them, and then she launched into a dramatic retelling of the story, complete with a perfect imitation of a very irritated Captain Pappas. By the time she'd finished, he'd laughed more than he had in the last six months.

"You and Veronica make a helluva pair. How long have you two been together?"

She blushed. "You make it sound like we're a couple."

"You're not?" He halfheartedly tried again to slap down the hope rising in his chest.

"No! She's really cool and we're good friends and all, but, um, how did you even get that idea?"

"She was hugging you a lot last time you came through." He didn't realize how dumb that sounded until he said it. God _damn_ , he was bad at this.

But Maisie was giggling now, and even though he didn't get the joke yet, he found himself laughing, too. "It was just that one day. She'd really, really wanted a fancy dress for a long time. And I had just given her one I found, and she was still all giddy and grateful, and yeah, I guess it would have looked a little ... oh, man, she'll laugh herself stupid when I tell her about this. I don't think I'm quite her type, and, well, she's not mine, either."

"So what is your type?" He tried to make the question sound as casual as possible.

"Well, male, for one, but I ... haven't really thought much about it. Been kinda busy. Tell you what. When I figure it out, I'll let you know, Ast--" Now she was blushing again, harder. Had he gone too far? "So, um, this is awkward, but I just realized I have no idea what your first name is."

"Oh!" His relief escaped him in an embarrassingly high-pitched giggle, which she was kind enough to let pass. "It's Fred."

"Fred Astor. That sounds familiar for some reason."

"There was a Pre-War movie star named Fred Astaire. My mom's an archivist for the Followers, and she saw a bunch of his holos. And she likes wordplay. So when she married a guy named Astor, she just couldn't resist naming me Fred."

"Well, were his movies any good?"

"I dunno; I never watched any of them. Mom likes to sing some of the songs from them, though."

"Awww, cool. Hey, speaking of music, Bruce Isaac is the next act upstairs. I was gonna go listen; he's a good singer. Wanna come with me?"

She could have made that offer on her way to a Deathclaw nest and he'd still have said yes eagerly. He insisted on buying their drinks: beer for him, sarsaparilla for her, and they settled into a cozy table for two.

While they waited for Isaac to take the stage, Maisie asked Astor what he liked to do for fun, and he admitted he hadn't been able to spend much time on it since he'd enlisted, but he really liked woodworking. It turned out she loved tinkering with technology, weapons, and other metal things, but hadn't done much with wood, so they compared and contrasted their crafts until the music began.

Isaac was indeed a good singer, but Astor's mind was nowhere near the show at the moment, instead choosing to focus on looking at Maisie as much as possible without letting her know he was doing it. He might only ever get this one opportunity, so he was going to savor every moment of her presence.

It worked pretty well for the first couple of songs, and then she flicked her eyes over to him, as if she'd been trying to steal a glance herself. Their eyes met and she went very pink. Astor started to believe this might not be an entirely hopeless cause. _Only one way to find out._ He reached across the table and slipped his fingers gently between hers.

She seemed to consider their intertwined hands for a moment, then looked up at him, smiled, and closed her fingers around his. Astor actually felt himself beginning to relax for the first time in months.

When Maisie finished her sarsaparilla, she put that hand over his, too. It was cold and a little damp from the bottle, but that was nothing, not when they were gazing into each other's eyes quite openly now. He'd never dared to dream of anything like this. Astor was going to have to buy that Cass woman a thank-you round or six.

Then Isaac's set ended, and the spell was broken by the groans and calls for an encore by a slightly rowdy group of drunken gamblers that Astor hadn't even heard arrive. "All right, ladies and gentlemen, one more for the road," the singer conceded, and launched into "Cobwebs and Rainbows".

It was a nice song, but then he got to the line "Green clouds in the sky seem forever," and Searchlight was back in Astor's head before he could push it away. He shut his eyes, swallowing hard, not wanting to remember and hating himself for that and for being alive and -- 

Maisie squeezed his hand, bringing him back to the present to hear Isaac continue, "But we know by-and-by that they fade ..." He opened his eyes, expecting pity at best on her face, but finding, to his amazement, understanding. Oh, this woman. His chest felt wonderfully tight. The song ended on the line "It's not been like this before," and it really, really hadn't.

He released her hand only long enough to join the round of applause, then stood up and offered her his arm to walk downstairs. They may not have planned this, but even he knew that dinner and a show was pretty much a date, and he might as well start treating her like it.

She linked her arm through his, her hand on his forearm, they descended the stairs, and he felt luckier than every gambler who'd ever hit the jackpot on the whole Strip. Put together.

And then one of the damn Chairmen had to start shooting his mouth off. "Your big brother know you're out on a date, dollface? When's your curfew?"

Astor glared at him, but Maisie, as usual, could take care of herself. "Piss off, Swank," she told him with an imperious little toss of her head, and then they were out the door.

_She didn't tell him it wasn't a date!_ said the ridiculous part of his brain that still didn't believe, despite the laughing and staring and handholding, that Maisie was really, truly interested in him. The smarter part found something different to latch onto. "You've got a brother?"

"Yeah. Well, kind of an adopted one. Long story. He's not gonna be mad or anything, though. Swank was just being an ass."

"I'd like to hear more about your fami--"

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" filled his ears instead. Across the street in the Ultra-Luxe fountain were three very, very drunk women splashing and dancing in their trooper helmets and very little else. They both laughed, but Astor had a sigh mixed in with his chuckles; even if only in a loose sense of the word, these were his co-workers and this was embarrassing.

"At least Veronica and I kept our clothes on when we played in the fountain," Maisie muttered between giggles, and he tried very, very hard not to think about what it might have looked like if she hadn't.

"Please remove your bra from the bottom of the fountain," blared a nearby Securitron. Was this a common enough thing on the Strip that they had to program the robots to say that? Astor asked Maisie that, but it just made her laugh harder.

"I wonder what other stuff they've had to put in. 'Please refrain from putting dynamite in the magazine boxes. Please do not snuff your cigarettes on the Tops promoter.'"

He actually snorted. "'Please do not ding-dong-ditch the Lucky 38'?"

"Oh, now, that's fighting dirty," she said, but her laughter was drowned out by the commotion of the newly-arrived MPs wrestling the rowdy troopers out of the fountain.

"Wanna go somewhere quieter?" she asked him, standing on tiptoe and setting her mouth close to his ear so he could hear her over the drunks' bellowed protests. Feeling her breath on his skin gave him the best kind of shivers. "I have a place here on the Strip."

He leaned down close enough to her pale little ear to discover that Maisie smelled like gunpowder, banana yucca, and sarsaparilla, and told her, "Lead the way."

She slipped her hand into his again, their palms together now, and he really should not have been getting this much of a charge out of holding a woman's hand -- what was he, ten? -- but the thrill ran through him all the same. The insides of their wrists brushed together and he hoped she couldn't feel his hammering pulse.

She tipped her head back and sang to the lights above: "Holding hands at midnight 'neath the starry sky ..." If she'd been anyone else, he would have heard her reedy soprano as merely passable, but instead it was perfection: Between the exuberance she put into the lines and the giddy smile she turned on him when she brought her eyes back down, he was convinced she was interested and starting to think she might even be as excited about him as he was about her.

Astor had expected Maisie to turn right when they left the fountain, assuming she meant a room in Vault 21, but she headed the other way. Funny; he hadn't figured her for the Gomorrah type. But that second left turn didn't come, either; instead, she tugged him gently to the right and -- _holy shit, the Lucky 38? She's the famous Courier. Oh, hell, how did I not put it together with the bullet scars and the general badassery?_ He froze in his tracks, staring up at the white spire. _Boy, you are_ such _a dumbass, and she is_ so _damn outta your league._

Maisie turned to him. "I. Er. We could go somewhere else if this place gives you the creeps," she said to him, twisting a stray strand of hair around the first two fingers of her free hand. Was she _nervous_? "Some of my friends don't like it here, either."

"No! I just --" _here comes the part where she decides you're too stupid to talk to_ \-- "I knew you were _a_ courier, but I didn't know you were _The_ Courier."

She gave him a long look, as if she were gauging his seriousness. 

"I mean, it doesn't surprise me or anything, the way you took out Cottonwood Cove and everything, and I feel really stupid for not figuring it out --" oh _shit_ he was babbling now -- "but we don't get a lot of news, and when we did, it was always 'The Courier' and never your name."

"Huh." Maisie looked off to the side, and even though her expression said she was reconsidering the entire evening, she hadn't let go of his hand.

"You think I'm a complete idiot, don't you?" Maybe he could salvage this if he just admitted it.

"No, no! I just, um, people are really interested in the Courier stuff, but it's kinda been a while since anyone wanted to talk to just-Maisie. I wasn't expecting it."

"I bet 'the Courier stuff' gave you lots of awesome stories, and I'll listen any time you want to tell one, but ... I like 'just'-Maisie and we can stick with her as long as you want."

Her grip on his hand became almost fierce, and she blinked rapidly for a moment before clearing her throat and saying, "Hey, since we're talking about Courier stuff anyway, I got you and your guys a present. Wanna come in and see it, or should I bring it out here?"

If she brought it outside, it would mean their night was over. No way. "Let's go see it."

She led him onto the dim casino floor, and he tried hard not to think about how few people had been in here since the bombs, because it made no sense that suddenly he was one of those chosen.

She scurried off into the cashier's office, and now that he was alone, Astor could see why the place creeped out some of her friends: This was probably what it would look like if everyone on earth just disappeared, leaving no traces except a stray shot glass here, an abandoned hand of poker there. 

But he wasn't on his own for long; Maisie returned with a Ripper mounted on a piece of wood with neatly beveled edges. A carefully-engraved metal plaque identified it as the personal weapon of Vulpes Inculta, leader of the frumentarii of Caesar's Legion. "One of their head honchos, huh? Wow."

"Yeah. I found out it was that asshole's bright idea to irradiate Searchlight, among ... other things." Something dark passed over her face and he wondered what other horrors she'd seen doing "Courier stuff". "But he's not going to be hatching any more schemes, because now he's dead." He suspected he should have been unnerved rather than turned on when she said that with such a bright smile, but hell, he should have been in a lonely room at Vault 21 by now instead of _in the goddamn Lucky 38_. "Originally I was going to bring you his head, but my friends ... convinced me to go with this instead."

His _head_? Holy shit. She was crazy, but it was definitely his kind of crazy. "This'll mean a lot to the guys. Means a lot to _me_. A hell of a lot. I don't know what else to say, Maisie, except that you are one helluva lady." He reached out and squeezed her hand again.

She blushed, toed the ground, and mumbled something about it being "the least I could do."

Astor could no longer tell himself he hadn't fallen for her, and that meant he had to at least try clearing the air about poor Private Edwards. "Hey, since we're talking about Searchlight ... can I tell you something?"

"Sure," she replied, perching on one of the stools to listen, body language open but face a little concerned.

"When I told you to kill Private Edwards, it wasn't because I hate ghouls or anything. But everyone else at the camp who didn't die went feral. I didn't see how he'd be any different. And, well, the first thing I saw when I got back to Searchlight after the attack was my C.O. staggering out of town with half her skin burnt off. I went to her to see if I could help, or get orders or information or something, and she launched herself at me and tried to bite me. I couldn't talk her down. Ended up shooting her in the face. It's hard to do that to someone you liked, respected, worked with every day. She deserved a better end with some goddamn dignity. That's what I was hoping you could give Edwards."

She chewed her lip for a few moments, then said very seriously, "That ... makes sense. I'm sorry. Still not sorry I said no, though."

"No, you did right. I just didn't know. Have you seen him since he went to Echo? Know how he's doing?"

That was apparently the right question to ask her; she perked up and smiled warmly. "Yeah, he's fitting in fine up there. Complains about getting all the shit jobs, but it's not like the Rangers are going to do them if there's anybody else around." She winked broadly, drawing yet another laugh from him. "I think he'll be okay. It sounded like meeting other people who've gone through it was really good for him."

The conversation died there, and he was wondering if maybe he should offer to call it a night when Maisie said, "You know, there are boxes of old movies upstairs. Wanna come see if there are any Fred Astaire ones?"

Did he _ever_. They left the trophy on the check-in desk and took the elevator up to the ballroom, which Maisie had apparently turned into a makeshift theatre with a few sofas arrayed in the middle of the dance floor in an arc in front of an enormous screen hooked up to a console. Piled next to the console were, as Maisie had promised, boxes full of holotapes. His patient, nonviolent, Follower of the Apocalypse mother would have slit throats to see this collection.

"Where'd you find a screen that big?"

"Oh, I took it out of a bigger electronics rig that wasn't being used anymore." That sounded perfectly ordinary, but something in the way she said it made him think it was more "Courier stuff". Maybe she'd tell him another day.

He settled onto the middle couch, and Maisie started the movie and joined him there, slipping her hand into his again. Ten minutes in, he realized that she had been leaning over very gradually until her head rested on his shoulder. Tentatively he wrapped his arm around her, and she actually cuddled up to him. He used her contented sigh as cover to let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Intellectually Astor knew he should be completely captivated by the dead world living again on the screen, but the one coming back to life in front of it was far more engrossing at the moment. He caught threads of pleasant song, but that was all. The movie was over way too damn fast.

"Seems like they could have made it a lot easier on themselves if they'd asked a few simple questions, and it was weird how everybody was white," mused Maisie. "Still, that was neat dancing, and Veronica would just die if she saw that feather dress."

Astor decided to keep his distraction to himself. Maybe he could actually watch the movie another day. "I liked the songs, too, even though I don't remember Mom singing any of them."

"Well, we could watch another one if you want."

"I'd love to." Maybe this time he could focus on the movie.

"Hey, Fred? Before we do, can I tell _you_ something?"

"Sure."

"I figured it out. You're my type." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, her little bow mouth surprisingly soft, before going to start the next holotape.

When she returned and snuggled back into his side, Astor put his arm back around her, turned her face up to his, and kissed her gently on the lips, hoping his inexperience wouldn't show too much.

If it did, she clearly didn't care; she kissed back with a slightly awkward enthusiasm that made him pretty sure they were both still refining their kissing technique, and he was just fine with practicing along with her. Yeah, he wasn't going to pay attention to _this_ movie, either, but neither was she. Astor still wasn't entirely sure why the world had spent tonight showering him with happiness he couldn't possibly deserve, but questioning it would be like asking a slot machine why it gave you the jackpot.

They'd given him a month's leave; it seemed impossibly short.


End file.
